Then troop meets troop, and valiant hearts the mimic fight pursue;
They hurl their javelins o'er the sand and pierce the bucklers through.
Long time the battling hosts contend, until that festive day,
The shout, the clash, the applauding cry, in silence die away.
They fain had prayed that time himself would stop Apollo's car.
They hate to see the sunset gloom, the rise of evening's star.
And even when the sun is set, he who a foe discerns,
With no less vigor to his targe the loaded javelin turns,
The onset joined, each lance discharged, the judge's voice is heard;
He bids the heralds sound a truce, and the wide lists are cleared.